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Sir S. Very good, Sir. Mr. Buckram, are For. Really, Sir Sampson, this is a sudden you ready? Čome, Sir, will you sign and eclipse. seal ?

Sir S. You're an illiterate old fool, and I'm Val. If you please, Sir; but first I would ask another. this lady one question.

Tat. If the gentleman is in disorder for want Sir S. Sir, you must ask me leave first- of a wife, I can spare hin mine. Oh, are you That lady! "No, Sir, you shall ask that lady there, Sir ? I am indebted to you for my bapno questions, till you have asked her blessing, piness.

[TO JEREMY. Sir; that lady is to be my wife.

Jer. Sir, I ask you ten thousand pardops: it Val. I have heard as much, Sir; but I would was an arrant mistake. You see, Sir, my mashave it from her own mouth.

ter was never mad, nor any thing like it.Sir S. That's as much as to say, I lie, Sir; Then how can it be otherwise ? and you don't believe what I say.

Val. Tattle, I thank you; you would have inVal. Pardon me, Sir. But I reflect that I terposed between me and heaven : but Provivery lately counterfeited madness: I don'dence laid Purgatory in your way. You have know but the frolic may go round.

but justice. Sir S. Come, satisfy him, answer him.- Scand. I hear the fiddles that Sir Sampson Come, Mr. Buckram, the pen and ink. provided for his own wedding; methinks it is

Buck. Here it is, Sir; with the deed; all is pity they should not be employed when the ready.

(VAL. goes to Ang. match is so much mended. Valentine, though Ang.. 'Tis true, you have a great while pre- it be morning we may have a dance. tended love to me; nay, what if you were sin- Val. Any thing, my friend; every thing that cere. Still, you must pardon me, if I think looks like joy and transport. my own inclinations bave a better right to dis- Scand. Call them, Jeremy: pose of my person, than yours.

Ang. I have done dissembling now, ValenSir S. Are you answered now, Sir ?

tine; and if that coldness which I have always Vai. Yes, Sir,

worn before you should turn to an extreme Sir S. Where's your plot, Sir ? and your fundness, you must not suspect it. contrivance now, 'sir ? 'Will you sign, Sir? Val. I'll prevent that suspicion-for I intend Come, will you sign and seal ?

to doat to that immoderate degree, that your Val. With all my heart.

fondness shall never distinguish itself enough Scand. 'Sdeath, you are not mad indeed ? to to be taken notice of. If ever you seem to ruin yourself.

love too much, it must be only when I can't Val. I have been disappointed of my only love enough. hope ; and he that loses hope may part with Ang. Have a care of promises : you know any thing. I never valued fortune, but as it you are apt to run more in debt than you are was subservient to my pleasure; and my only able to pay. pleasure was to please this lady: I have made Val. Therefore I yield myself as your prisomany vain attempts ; and find at last that ner, and make your best on't. nothing but my ruin can effect it, which, for Scand. The music stays for you. (A dance. that reason I will siga to.- -Give me the pa- [TO ANG.) Well, Madam, you have done exper.

emplary justice in punishing an inhuman fathAng. Generous Valentine !

[Aside. er, and rewarding ' faithful lover: but there Buck. Here is the deed, Sir.

is a third good work, which I in particular must Val. But where is the bund, by which I am thank you for; I was an infidel to your sex, obliged to sign this?

and you have converted me-for now I am Buck. Sir Sampson, you have it.

convinced that all women are not, like fortune, Ang. No, I have it; and I'll use it, as I blind in bestowing favours, either on those who would every thing that is an ene:ny to Valen- do not merit, or who do not want them. uine.

[l'ears the paper. Ang. It is an unreasonable accusation, that Sir S. How dow?

you lay upon our sex. You tax us with injusVal. Ha !

tice, only to cover your own want of merit. Ang. Had I the world to give you, it You would all have the reward of love; but could not make me worthy of so genervus few have the constancy to stay till it becomes and faithful a passion. Here's my hand; my your

due. Men are generally hypocrites and heart was always yours, and struggled hard to infidels; they pretend to worship, but have make this utmost trial of your virtue. (To VAL. neither zeal nor faith, How few, like Valen.

Val. Between pleasure and amazement 1 tine, would persevere even to martyrdom, and am lost-but on my knees I take the blessing: sacrifice their interest to their constancy! In Sir S. Zounds, what is the meaning

of this ? admiring me, you misplace the novelty. Ben. Mess, here's the wind changed again.

The miracle to-day is that we find Father, you and I may make a voyage togeth

A lover true ; and that a woman's kind. er now! Ang. Well, Sir Sampson, since I have played

[Exeunt omnes. you a trick, I'll advise you how you may avoid such another. Learn to be a good father, or you'll never get a second wife. I always loved your son, and hated your unforgiving nature. I was resolved to try him to the utmost; I

EPILOGUE. have tried you too, and know you both. You bave not more faults than he has virtnes; and Sure Providence at first desigo'd this place it is hardly more pleasure to me that I can To be the player's refuge in distress; make him and myself happy, than that I can For still, in every storm, they all run hither, punish you.

As to a shed, that shields them from the weaVal. If my happiness could receive addition ;


[us, this kind surprise would make it double. But thinking of this change which last befel Sir S. You're a crocodile.

It's like what I have heard our poets tell us,

for when behind our scenes their suits are | Aod thus our audience, which did once resort pleading,

[reading; To shining theatres, to see our sport, To help their love, sometimes they show their Now find us tose'd into a tennis court ! And, wanting ready cash to pay for hearts, These walls but t'other day' were fill’d with They top their learning on us, and their

noise parts.

Of roaring gamesters, and your dumme boys; Once of philosophers they told us stories, Then bounding balls and rackets they encumWhom, as I think, they call’d-Py-Pytha

pass'd; gories,

And now they are filld with jests, and flights, I'm sure 'tis some such Latin name they give

and bombast! m,

I vow, I don't much like this transmigration, And we, who know no better, must believe Strolling from place to place, by circulation; them.

Grant Heaven, we don'i return to our first strNow to these men (say they) such souls were

tion ! given,

I know not what these think; but, for my part, That, after death, ne'er went to hell nor I can't reflect without an aching heart, heaven.

How we should end in, our original, a cart. But lived, I know not how, in beasts; and But we can't fear, since you're so good to save

then, When many years were pass’d, in men again. That you have only set us up to leave us. Methinks, we players resemble such a soul; Thus, from the past, we hope for future grace, That does from bodies, we from houses stroll. I beg itThus Aristotle's soul, of old that was,

And some here know I have a begging face. May now be damn’d to animate an ass; Then pray continue this your kind behaviour ; Or in this very house, for onght we koow, For a clear stage woat do, without your fa Is doing painful penance in some beau;










AMONG the few dramas of our early writers which have maintained their station on the stage, this amusing comedy holds a distinguished place ; and though it cannot be ranked with the Volpone and Alchemist of Jonson, or with a few others of the old masters, the propriety of the verdict which has established its reputation cannot fairly be disputed. Its plot is complicated, though not confused; its characters are well discriminated ; its manners, being founded rather on nature than on any particular fashion or period, are calculated to be understood and to please in all countries and at all times. Such is the general character of the performance, which cannot fail to create an interest, and to raise a laugh, whenever it is represented on the stage. It is not, however, without its defects ; and much as we may feel disposed to speak in its favour, candid criticism must admit, that neither its plot, its characters, nor its manners, are faultless.

Of the diction of this comedy it may be remarked, that it is surprisingly inconsistent with itself, and evidently be. tokening the drama to have been the work of two masters. The two first acts, and above half of the third, are written in the easy and familiar blank verse, which was so generally used by the dramatic writers of Elizabeth's and James's time, and which very probably may be preferred, at least for dramatic purposes, to prose. The remainder is of a totally different cast, being mere prose, monotonous, heavy, and inelegant enough.




servants to Don John and PetrucHIO, Governor of Bologna.


Frederick. Don John,

two Spanish Gentlemen SURGEON. Don FREDERICK,) and comrades. ANTONIO, an old stout Gentleman, kinsman 1st ConSTANTIA, sister to Petruchio, and Misto Petruchio.

tress to the Duke.
THREE GENTLEMEN, friends to the Duke. KINSWOMAN.
THREE GENTLEMEN, friends to Petruchio. LANDLADy to Don John and Frederick.

2d Constantia, whore to Antonio. MUSICIAN.




Suppose now at this instant one of you Of all men, those have reason least to care Were tickled by a fool, what would you do? For being laugh’d at, who can laugh their 'Tis ten to one you'd laugh: here's just the Your gay fool tickles with his dress and mo- And know that they are none of those, not tions,

share : And that's a thing our author's apt to use, For there are fools that tickle with then Upon occasion, when no man can choose.



guilty But your grave fool of fools with silly potions. Of the least vanity of love: only a doubt Is it not then unjust that fops should still Fame might too far report, or rather flatter Force one to laugh, and then take laughing The graces of this woman, made them curious ill ?

To find the truth; which since they find so Yet since perhaps to some it gives offence, Lock'd up from their searches, they are now That men are tickled at the want of sense ;

resolved Our author thinks he takes the readiest way To give the wonder over. To sbow all he has laugh'd at here-fair Pet. Would they were resolved play.

To give me some new shoes loo; for I'll be For if ill-writing be a folly thought, Correcting ill is sure a greater fault.

These are e'en worn out to the reasonable Then, gallants, laugh ; but choose the right


(sleep place first,

In their good worships' business: and some For judging ill is of all faults the worst. Would not do much amiss, unless they mean

To make a bell-man of me. Here they come.



Enter Don John and Don FREDERICK. ACT I.

John. I would we could have seen her

though: for sure

She must be some rare creature, or report SCENE I.

lies :

All men's reports too.
Enter Peter and ANTHONY.

Fred. I could well wish I had seen Con

stantia : Pet. Would we were removed from this But since she is so conceal’d, placed where town, Anthony,

No knowledge can come near her, so guarded That we might taste some quiet; for mine As 'twere impossible, though known, to reach own part,

her, I'm almost melted with continual trotting I have made up my belief. After inquiries, dreams, and revelations, John. Hang me from this bour, Of who knows whom or where. Serve wench- If I more think upon her: ing soldiers !

But as she came a strange report unto me, I'll serve a priest in Lent first, and eat bell- So the next fame shall lose her. ropes.

Fred. 'Tis the next wayAnt. Thou art the forwardest fool

But whither are you walking ? Pet. Why, good tame Anthony,

John. My old round Tell me but this; to what end came we After my meat, and then to bed. bither?

Fred. "Tis healthful. Ant. To wait upon our masters.

John. Will you not stir? Pet. But how, Anthony ?

Fred. I have a little business. Answer me that; resolve me there, good John. I'd lay my life, this lady stillAnthony.

Fred. Then you would lose it. Ant. To serve their uses.

John. Pray let's walk together. Pet. Show your uses, Anthony.

Fred. Now I cannot. Ant. To be employ'd in any thing.

John. I have something to impart. Pet. No, Anthony,

Fred. Ap hour bence Not any thing, I take it, nor that thing I will not miss to meet ye. We travel to discover, like new islands;

John. Where? A salt itch serve such uses ! in things of mo- Fred. I'th' high street: ment,

For, not to lie, I have a few devotions Concerning things I grant ye, not things er- To do first, then I'm yours. rant, (surgeon : John. Remember.

(Exeunt. Sweet ladies' things, and things to thank the In no such things, sweet Anthony. Put Enter PETRUCHIO, ANTONIO, and two GENTLE

MEN. Ant. Come, come, all will be mended : this invisible woman,

Ant. Cut his wind-pipe, I say. Of infinite shape and beauty,

1st Gent. Fy, Antonio. That bred all this trouble to no purpose,

Ant. Or knock bis brains out first, and then They are determined now no more to think on. forgive him, Pet. Were there ever

If you do thrust, be sure it be to the bilts, Men known to run mad with report before ? A surgeon may see through him. Or wander after what they know not where 2d Gent. You are too violent. To find; or if found, how to enjoy? Are men's 1st Gent. Too open, indiscreet. brains

Petr, Am I not ruin'd ? Made now-a-days with malt, that their affec-The honour of my house crack'd ? my blood tions

poison'd? Are never sober ; but like drunken people My credit and my name? Founder at every new fame? I do believe 2d Gent. Be sure it be so, That men in love are ever drunk, as drunken Before you use this violence. Let not doubt men

And a suspecting anger so much sway ye, Are ever loving.

Your wisdom may be question'd. Ant. Pr'ythee be thou sober,

Ant. I say, kill bim,


And then dispute the cause; cut off what may | Are close, and no lights stirring ; there may And what is, shall be safe.


be foul play; 2d Gent. Hang up a true man,

I'll venture to look in. If there be knaves Because 'tis possible he may be thievish: I may do a good office. Alas! is this good justice ?

Within. Signior! Petr. I know as certain

John. What! How is this? As day must come again, as clear as trath, Within. Signior Fabritio! And open as belief can lay it to me,

John. I'll go nearer. That am basely wrong'd, wrong'd above Within. Fabritio! recompepce,

John. This is a woman's tongue; bere may Maliciously abused, blasted for ever

be good done.
In name and honour, lost to all remembrance, Within. Who's there? Fabritio ?
But what is smear'd and shameful: I must kill John. Ay.
Necessity compels me.

[him; Within. Where are you? 2d Gent. But think better.

John. Here.
Petr. There's no other cure left; yet witness Within. O, come for Heaven's sake!
with me

John. I must see wbat this means.
All that is fair in man, all that is noble:
I am not greedy for this life I seek for,

Enter a WOMAN with a Child.
Nor thirst to shed man's blood; and would
'twere possible,

Wom. I have stayed this long hour for you; I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble

make po noise; T offend the sacred image of my Maker, For things are in strange trouble. Here, be My sword should only kill his crimes : no, 'tis

secret. Honour, honour, my noble friends, that idol | 'Tis worth your care: begone now; more eyes honour


watch us That all the world now worships, pot Pe Than may be for our safeties. Must do this justice.

John. Hark ye. Ant. Let it once be done,

Wom. Peace; good night. And 'tis no matter, whether you or honour, John. She's gore, and I am loaden. Fortune Or both be accessary.

for me! 2d Gent. Do you weigh, Petruchio, It weighs well and it feels well; it may chance The value of the person, power and greatness, To be some pack of worth; by the mass 'tis And what this spark may kindle ?

heavy! Petr. To perform it,

If it be coin or jewels, it is worth welcome. So much I am tied to reputation,

I'll ne'er refuse a fortune: I am confident And credit of my house, let it raise wild-fires, 'Tis of no common price. Now to my lodging: And storms that toss me into everlasting ruin, If it be right I'll bless this night. (Exit. Yet I must through; if ye dare side me. Ant. Dare !

Enter Don FREDERICK. Petr. Y'are friends indeed : if not ! 2d Gent. Here's none flies from you;

Fred. 'Tis strange. Do it in what design you please, we'll back ye. 1st Gent. Is the cause so mortal ? nothing but I cannot meet him; sure he has encounter'd his life?

Some light of love or other, and there meads Petr. Believe me,

To play at in and in for this night. Well, Don A less offence had been the desolation

If you do spring a leak, or get an itch, [John, Of a whole name.

Till you claw off your curled pate, thank your 1st Gent. No other way to purge it?

night-walks ; Petr. There is, but never to be hoped for.

You must be still a boot-baling. One round 2d Gent. Think an hour more,

more, And if then you find no safer road to guide ye, Though it be late, I'll venture to discover ye. We'll set our rests too.

I do not like your out-leaps.

[Exit. Ant. Mine's up already, And hang bim, for my part, goes less than life. Enter Duke and three GENTLEMEN. 2d Gent. If we see noble cause, 'tis like our swords

Duke. Welcome to town. Are ye all fit? May be as free and forward as your words. 1st Gent. To point, Sir.

[Exeunt. Duke. Where are the horses ?

2d Gent. Where they were appointed.

Duke. Be private: and whatsoever fortune Enter Don John.

Offers itself, let us stand sure.

3d Gent. Fear us not. John. The civil order of this city Naples Ere you shall be endanger'd or deluded, Makes it beloved and honour'd of all tra- We'll make a black night on't. vellers,

Duke. No more, I know it; As a most safe retirement in all troubles ; You know your quarters. Beside the wholesome seat and noble temper 1st Gent. Will you go alone, Sir ? Of those minds that inhabit it, safely wise, Duke. Ye shall not be far from ine, the least And to all strangers courteous. But I see

noise My admiration has drawn night upon me, Sball bring ye to my rescue. And longer to expect my friends may pull me 2d Gent. We are counsellid. [Exeunt. Into suspicion of too late a stirrer, Which all good governments are jealous of.

Enter Don John. I'll hone, and think at liberty : yet certain, "Tis not so far night as I thought; for see, John. Was ever man 80 paid for being A fair house yet stands open, yet all about it

curious ?

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